Grail on the Chessboard
by Ariandir
Summary: The Black Queen Selene has suddenly begun to strike up some fearful alliances, and letting her win the game is not an option for the X-Men. But Selene is aiming higher than just checkmate...
1. The Pieces Are Set

Author's notes: Hey people! Yes! I finally have uploaded my X-Men comic fic! I've been meaning to do so for a while, but I've never gotten round to it. I have to admit, I've only just recently become a fan of the actual comics, but I did know about X-Men before the films came out, so I've been an initial junkie for a while. As many of you who've read some of my other X-Men fics will know, that special place in my heart belongs to Nightcrawler, and so, inevitably, a large part of this fic is going to be Kurt o/c romance. It's gonna feature everyone else of course, as well as a few guest appearances, so hang on to your bootlaces for those - the Hellfire Club and its members play a vital leading role. In the meantime however, constructive critism and, of course, reviews, will be greatly appreciated and much valued, so once you get to the foot of the text, you guys know what to do - start pressing those blue buttons like the little reviewing otters you are! Hope you are all well, and that you enjoy the fic, Arian xxx *^-^* 

Disclaimer: Stan Lee is da man! Many kudos to Marvel comics. Yay! 

The Black Queen sat on her throne in the dim, flickering candlelight. The air was pungent with the smell of brimstone carried up from the deeper chambers by warm drafts that seeped through the flagstones and the walls, the corners were draped with the fluttering veils of shadows and echoing with eldritch sounds. 

Protruding from their black leather gloves, her pale, slender fingers formed a spire before her nose and mouth, their long, perfectly manicured nails glistening the colour of blood. 

Her long lashes touched her marble cheeks, her vivid eyes closed in deepest thought, her mind soaring, intangible, elsewhere. 

In her mind's eye, she hovered above the ruined abbey, the beams of moonlight failing to illuminate her as she rested there, glancing instead off the malevolent, weathered faces of the gargoyles, and she felt frustration brush her heart strings as she scoured the crumbling walls of stone beneath her; It _had_ to be there somewhere! 

"...My Queen?" 

The woman's eyes opened, bringing into focus the red-and-blue clad guard standing tentatively in the doorway, his face hidden by an expressionless skin-coloured mask. He flinched as her gaze struck him with an almost physical force. 

"Speak." She said wearily. 

"He is here, my Queen." 

Her eyes turned from the sentry, attempting to penetrate the shadows that wreathed the entrance opposite her throne. 

"Leave us." She said finally. 

As the guard left the chamber, the Black Queen felt a lazy sense of pleasure pass through her as she toyed with the idea of having him whipped for disturbing her trance. Or having _a_ guard whipped. It didn't really matter - the fate of one would serve to caution the actions of many. 

"It is a pleasure to see you looking so well, my Queen." Came a deep voice from the shadows, catching the woman's attention. 

"I have little patience for forced formalities here and now." She replied shortly. "What do you have?" 

"A location." 

"_A_ location?" 

"Yes, my Queen." 

"That's not good enough!" She snapped. "I need the exact place!" 

"The information we have gathered thus far gives us enough confidence to say that it might well be worth your while to investigate." 

The Black Queen arched a dark eyebrow. 

"How can you be sure this_ information_ is reliable?" She asked. 

"Because we have it direct from the mouth of one of the Knights." 

Slowly, her ruby lips curved into a smile, revealing her white teeth. 

"Very well." She purred. "See to it that the location is searched." 

There was a short pause. 

"You realise of course, my Queen, that we will meet opposition to your plan?" Came the hesitant question. 

"I am no fool." Came the mildly irritated reply. "So do not take me for one. If some idiot is naive enough to think they can successfully undermine my plans, then undermine theirs'." She shifted in her seat, readjusting the folds of her heavy mantle. 

"Go." She said in a low voice, her eyes flashing in the candlelight as their gaze rose to pierce the shadows again. "With this warning: failure of those in my service does not appease me." 

"Yes, my Queen." 

Whispering footfalls and the soft swish of a cloak faded to silence as the Black Queen reclined in the literal seat of her power with a cruel smile touching her lips. 

"Though I wait for White to make the first move," She told herself softly. "I wait with the precious gift of patience, for then, the game begins..." 

-~*~- 

Logan paused, his heightened senses searching the grounds as his lungs worked like bellows from the exertion of training. 

He grinned despite himself for the sheer adrenaline that pumped through his veins. 

"Where are you, Elf?" He growled, standing lower and more feral as he readied himself for the familiar BAMF. 

And it came, sure as ever, with the stench of brimstone smoke, nearly knocking Logan off his feet with its potency. 

"I'm right behind you, mein freund." Came the chuckling response. 

Logan spun round to see Kurt Wagner, the X-Men's resident teleporter, hanging upsidedown from the branch of a nearby tree by his tail, arms folded, knees tucked into his stomach and his headlamp eyes beaming in a fanged grin. 

At first glance, the German-born mutant appeared much like the Devil himself, or at best, a maleficent goblin, and for this reason, he was no stranger to the hatred, fear or rejection of others. But then, they were generally those who hadn't experienced his kindness, his wit and his unflagging chivalry. 

Kurt's skin was covered in a fine, silky indigo fur, which allowed him to blend into shadows and darkness to the extent of becoming effectively invisible. His eyes were a contrasting saffron yellow, and his ears, teeth and tail all tapered to points. His hands and feet had only three digits each, the third toes on his feet protruding from the backs of his heels. 

Despite his demonic attributes, Kurt was a devout Christian, and a swashbuckling, romantic hero at that. He was also renowned for his wicked sense of fun-seeking humour, and for being a practising ladies' man. 

Logan gave a fierce growl, and charged at his friend, claws outstretched. 

"You'll have to be faster than that, Herr Logan." Kurt chuckled, before disappearing again in a burst of imploding air and purple smoke. 

Wolverine skidded to a halt under the branch, momentarily disorientated by the stench of brimstone, and cast about for any indication of where his team-mate had teleported to. 

Suddenly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a little later, he was nowhere to be seen. 

A few moments passed before another billow of smoke drifted out from the tree, and Kurt reappeared on his branch, crouching still. 

'I didn't even teleport away from the tree.' He though to himself. 'I only moved a few branches up. Where has he gone?!' 

Porting for a fourth time, Kurt reappeared a split second later on the ground, wishing there was someway to hide his comings and goings. 

Suddenly, the fur rose on the back of his neck, and in a heartbeat, Wolverine launched himself out of nowhere at Nightcrawler. 

"Surprise, sucker!" The powerful Canadian snarled gruffly, knocking into his team-mate and pinning him to the ground, winded. 

Kurt was too groggy from the impact to 'port to safety, watching in horror as Wolverine drew back his right arm, claws glinting in the sunlight. 

"Game's over, Elf." He growled. "An' you lose!" 

With a sudden deafening roar that was met by Nightcrawler's cry of dismay, Logan plunged his clenched fist forward, his claws passing so close by Kurt's head that they cut the tips off a few dark locks before sliding like hot knives through butter into the earth. 

There was a momentary pause of silence, broken by Wolverine drawing his claws out of the soil, and sheathing them after a meticulous inspection. 

"Shucks. Missed." He grinned at Kurt, who was now sitting upright, hand on his heaving chest. 

"Please don't do that again." He gasped faintly. 

"Scared y'didn't I?" Logan's grin widened. "Serves you right for making such a dumb-butt move!" 

"I should have stayed in the tree!" 

"No kiddin'." 

"I let my guard down." The German mutant admitted. "How did you disappear like that, Logan? I never took my eyes off you!" 

"It's an ol' Ninja trick." Wolverine grunted, helping Kurt to his feet. "Stadin' in plain sight without bein' seen; I learnt it in Japan." 

"It certainly got me." Nightcrawler murmured. 

"Y'know, Elf." Logan sighed, giving his comrade a hefty clap on the shoulder that nearly brought Nightcrawler to his knees. "I really enjoy these improvised training sessions." 

"Ja - it's nice to know you get enjoyment out of scaring the fur off me." 

"I knew you'd understand. Whadda y'say to a cold beer?" 

Kurt looked at his team-mate and grinned. 

"Show me the taproom, mein freund." 

-~*~- 

Sweat beaded on her brow, matting her auburn hair to her forehead, and her body was slick with it. The sheets clung to her like a second skin, and she tossed and turned to free herself, her mind spinning with images vivid, and yet intangible... 

_At first, She flew only through darkness. But gradually, the darkness began to take form, rough and jutting walls of rock crested with dim infernal light._

_She flew on, deeper and deeper, feeling the heat rise about her as She descended. A warm breeze combed its fingers through her red locks, and skimmed past the bare skin of her face, and despite herself, She smiled._

_Looking down, She found herself gliding over a rough, stony floor, but curiously, **just** a floor - no roof overhead, and no walls. Just a rocky plain reaching far out into the further darkness, beyond the halo cast by a beam of fiery light that burst up through a mouth-like opening a few metres ahead of her._

_Flying into the illumination, She paused for a moment before diving down into the chasm below, her body casting dark, stretching shafts of shadow up into the blackness above. _

_As soon as She was through, the temperature seemed to fall with her descent, moving smoothly from warm, to cool, to cold._

_The light became dimmer, and more blue, the rock of the walls taking on a greenish tinge as She soared on through the underground caves, rolling through dark arches and slipping through small holes, in onward flight._

_The gentle breeze that blew in her face and tugged at her hair now turned into an icy wind that froze the moisture in her eyes and bit at her cheeks with burning nips._

_There also came with it a rushing sound that grew louder and more deafening with each passing moment. The noise seemed to be inside her very heart, entering through her ears and gushing into every crevice of her soul._

_The wind rose stronger, until She was having to throw her own physical strength into her advance to have any hope of making headway._

_Finally, She reached the largest cave She had yet come to, and opposite her on a raised, central dais was a huge circular frame of stone laid flat on the floor, and what seemed to be a pool of rippling water within its circumference._

_No doubt, She thought, the ripples in the water were being caused by the hurricane winds that howled round the cavern and threatened to push her out if She didn't concentrate her strength._

_Then, barely visible, She noticed something glinting just below the surface of the pool. _

_It grew larger, taking on a golden hue, and eventually it shone so bright that She could barely bring herself to look at it, any more than someone could bring themselves to look directly at the Sun._

_But as She began to take fleeting glances at it, she saw that the light had a form - the form of a shining grail._

_It rose slowly towards the surface, the twine-like engravings on its cup becoming clearer through the blinding light as darker threads of shadow._

_She stared at the grail, unable to look away though its brilliance pierced her eyes._

_Then suddenly, the wind, that had all this while been circling the walls with feral cries, swooped into the centre of the room from all directions, stilling to collect above the shining cup for a moment, and then shoot straight at her, blasting her backwards out of the chamber, away from the dais and back through the tunnels and openings through which She had come._

_Faster and faster She was blown, until the distinct shapes of the rocks about her were nothing more than a blur of dull colour, occasionally shot with pinpricks and streaks of pyrotechnics._

_And yet, even as the distance between her and that final cave grew wider, the golden light never faded... _

Jean Grey awoke with a gasp, springing bolt upright in the bed, the sheets peeling from her wet skin. 

"Oh god..." She whispered, passing an uncontrollably shaking hand over her brow. 

-~*~- 


	2. The Black Queen's Gentry

Author's notes: Aha! The second installment, and the plot thickens...*gives an evil little chuckle as she sits perched on top of her stool* Thanks to VladimirsAngel for my one and only review (jusqu'ici...)- you are a star! *Mwah!* Luv ya. Also, thanks kaboodles to my bestest best mate Race Skylark for helping me with my research on Donald Pierce, and for giving me some fantastic critiques of this fic so far - over the phone as well! That's good service for you...anyway, I think that concludes my big thank-yus rant for this chapter, so remember to r&r, and here we go... 

Disclaimer:...Stan Lee, and Marvel comics - what more need be said? Proof that pure genius still lives on in the world. 

"Gabriel?" 

The young woman stirred, her eyes coming into focus and her fingertips skimming lightly down the stalk of her champagne flute. 

"I'm...sorry, Warren - you were saying?" 

Gabriel glanced at him apologetically, taking a sip from her glass. 

Warren Worthington III flexed his wings uncomfortably. 

"Is something wrong?" He asked the girl, concern showing in his handsome face. 

Gabriel considered him for a moment, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes barely detectable. 

"Non." She replied with a radiant smile, purring disarmingly in her French accent. "Why would zere be?" 

Warren raised his eyebrow, returning her smile in a somewhat wryer form. 

"You look awfully beautiful when you lie." He said quietly. 

Gabriel's smile remained on her face, but Warren could sense a serious change in her manner. 

"Dance wis me." She said, delicately lifting her napkin from her lap and putting it down beside her plate. 

Warren followed suit, watching his friend cross to the dance floor as he did so. 

The heavy silks and velvets of her French 18th Century gown rustled as she walked, their hues shifting like wine in the candlelight. The sleeves and neckline were hemmed with wide, ruffled lace, and the front of the corset was embellished with a rich gold-and-russet-thread brocade. 

Gabriel was wearing little jewellery that night: merely a simple pearl choker and ruby earrings, the full brunt of decoration left to her hair. Her long, pale curls were taken up and back with a few ringlets left trailing over her shoulders, and the locks were adorned with sprays of fresh jasmine and one or two small red roses, which Gabriel sometimes rejuvenated whenever she felt they were beginning to look forlorn. 

Warren felt her tension as he took her hand in his and brought her to him in preparation for a Waltz. 

"What is it?" He asked. 

"My farzer," Gabriel glanced about them, keeping her voice low. "'Ee 'as struck up an alliance wis zee Black Queen." 

Warren's brows bent. 

"She's up to something." He said. 

Gabriel sighed impatiently. 

"Oh, don't be such a fool, Warren - she's always up to somesing." She chided. "What 'as been concerning me is why she would need zee 'elp of someone like Papa." 

Warren felt a shiver slither down his spine like an eel. 

"Grave notion." He murmured. 

Then he winced as Gabriel shot him a look with her eyes that spoke murder. 

"Sorry - that was a very bad pun." He apologised sheepishly. 

"Oui." She agreed tartly, her lips thin. 

Warren cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted his wings, but Gabriel continued. 

"Zere's no doubt zat some of zee Inner Circle are in on 'er schemes also, but not all of zem." 

"Makes sense." Warren mused. "She's bound to have favourites; members who are more loyal to her." 

"What on erss could she be planning?" Gabriel frowned. "'Er alliance wis my farzer confuses me - if it weren't for zat, I would not be 'alf so worried." 

"Black Queens are supposed to scheme, Belle - it's in their job description. Although..." Warren looked his friend straight in the eye. "I'm inclined to agree with you." 

Gabriel looked back at him. 

"What are you going to do, Warren?" She asked warily. 

He was about to reply when he was interrupted by a cold, sneering voice. 

"Mind if I cut in?" 

A tall, gaunt, blonde-haired man wearing traditional 18th Century gentleman's garb stood to their side, his hands clasped behind his back. 

From looking at his face, you could tell that at one time, he had been handsome. Back when he had passed for human. 

His features were now marred by long, slender scars where the skin had been peeled back in horrific operations to alow various components to be fitted beneath the flesh, of which not much remained, and there was something not quite right about his eyes. 

Donald Pierce the cyborg stood watching Warren with an expression of cold expectation. 

"Of course." Warren said stiffly, bowing out to allow the pale man to dance with Gabriel. 

"Have you considered the Queen's proposal, yet?" He asked, ignoring the young woman's shudder as his steely arm slid round her waist. At close range, Gabriel could now see, with utmost revulsion, what had seemed so wrong about his eyes - there were three eyeballs in each. Knowing Pierce, at least two had to be weapons. 

"I 'ave." She replied shortly. 

"And?" 

"Zee answer is still non." 

Pierce smirked. 

"You'll find the Queen is most persistent in these matters." He warned. 

"Let us 'ope, zen, zat zee Queen is wise enough to accept gracefully when 'er request is turned down." 

"Let us hope, then, that the invitee is wise enough to gracefully accept the Queen's request." Donald replied with a touch of threat to his tone. 

Gabriel narrowed her eyes. 

"I find no srill in zee prospect of becoming a member of your twisted, sadistic society." 

Donald smiled a dark smile that made the young woman feel as though something slimy had just been dropped down her back. 

"Pity." He said, considering her for a moment. "You father will be so disappointed you chose not to follow in his footsteps." 

Gabriel drew back her right arm and slapped Pierce's face with all the strength she could muster. She knew that thanks to his almost completely mechanical anatomy, he probably wouldn't feel a thing, but it would communicate her thoughts at least. 

As the echoes of the sharp sound faded away, Pierce's head remained turned by the blow, though only from shock, and his skin was ripped to expose glinting metal beneath where her nails had gouged through the thin layer of flesh. 

Gabriel glared poisonously at him, her lavender eyes blazing. 

"'Ow dare you." She hissed, barely even able to speak for her anger. 

Donald turned his head back to face her, his jaw clenched tight. The whole hall was awash with silence now. 

"'Ow dare you!" Gabriel cried furiously, striking him again. This time, her nails scraped against the exposed circuitry, causing the mechanics to start spitting occasional sparks. 

Pierce reacted more visibly to her action the second time, and he bore down on her, seizing her arm, and making as if to return the blow. 

Warren was there in a heartbeat, wings flared, his body between Gabriel's and Pierce's, holding Gabriel protectively in his arms. 

Pierce glared at them for a moment with his six bionic eyes, and then stepped back, knowing full well that giving into his anger wasn't worth Angel's wrath. 

"Bitch." He spat, jerking the front of his black overcoat straight and stalking off toward the galleries. 

But just as he reached the grand entrance to the banqueting hall, he stopped and turned towards the watching guests. 

"The Black Queen will hear of this!" He cried maniacally. 

A moment later, he had vanished into the shadows. 

-~*~- 

Gabriel settled back in the deep leather seat of the back car, gazing out of the rain-washed window at the furry halos of street lamps and restaurant lights that passed by them. 

Warren sat beside her, wings folded, and his eyes never leaving her profile. 

"You're sure you're ok?" He asked quietly. 

"Oui." Gabriel's voice was even softer, and she didn't look away from the window. Then, after a moment more of silence, she sighed. 

"Non, I'm not: I'm terrified." 

Warren narrowed his eyes with sympathy as her voice gave, and extended an arm around Gabriel's shoulders as tears began to roll slowly down her porcelain cheeks. 

"Warren, I'm sorry." The young woman laughed weakly, and tipped her head back to try and stem the flow of tears. 

"Don't apologise!" Warren smiled, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Having to _look_ at Donald Pierce is enough to emotionally wound someone, let alone having to dance with him." 

Gabriel gave another quiet laugh, and pressed the handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, so that it draped down over her nose and mouth - it smelt comfortingly of Warren's aftershave. 

"Donald Pierce is a travesty of 'uman life!" She said huskily, lowering the white cloth. "It is not only 'is strength zat frightens me, but also 'is intellect - 'e's a clever enemy, and a dangerous one." She paused, and looked up at Warren with bright eyes. "Per'aps it might 'ave been foolish of me to turn down zee Black Queen's invitation." 

"Certainly not." Warren told her sternly. "And if she doesn't like it, there's not a lot she can do." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Your father loves you dearly, and if she ever did anything to harm you..." He drew beath in through his teeth and gave a low laugh. "If the Black Queen can stand on her own two feet and look your father in the face when he's against her, it'll be the _most_ she can do, and more than I expect of her." 

Pulling Gabriel a little closer as she clutched his handkerchief in both hands for comfort, Warren kissed her silky hair. 

"I think it's time I had a reunion with my old mentor..." 

-~*~- 

Pierce was in a terrible rage. 

His tall, lanky form was visibly trembling as he smashed the activation panel with his steely fist, where it left a large dent in the keypad. The panel gave out a loud 'fttzzzzz' and began to shower blue sparks, one or two of the key tabs falling to the carpeted floor with metallic 'chink's. 

The tapestry on the wall before Pierce flickered like a tv screen with bad reception, and then vanished all together, revealing a door-sized opening in the brickwork. 

Without even a thought for the broken mechanism, Pierce stalked through the entrance and down the staircase on the other side. 

The foot of the steps lead off into a long, dark hallway, the ceiling so high above that it was hidden in shadow, and the walls on either side lined with neo-classical pillars, upon which crouched gruesome statuettes of winged demons, their fanged mouths open wide in insane laughter, or unholy screams - Pierce couldn't tell which. 

Over the cold silence, the muffled murmur of talk in another room began to reach his ears from up ahead, and he hissed a long, aggressive sigh out through his clenched teeth as he approached the door. 

Leaning close to the wooden panels, Pierce said in a harsh voice 

"Bishop to Queen's 6." 

A moment later, the door swung open, and Pierce was bathed in warm candlelight and the sound of socialising. 

"Donald, old boy!" Exclaimed a dark man sitting at the long table in the centre of the richly-furnished room, light from a candleflame shining through his glass of red wine as he lifted it and staining his white-lace cravat crimson. "What ever's the matter? You look ready to murder..." He added with a chuckle. 

Pierce angled his cheek towards the man, and with a snarl, thrust an accusing finger at the rips in his face. 

"Delierre's _damned_ daughter!" He foamed. "That's what!" 

"Petit little madame use you as a scratching post, did she, Pierce?" Smirked a lithe, raven-haired woman in purple silk from the corner. 

"Aren't you normally on a street corner somewhere at this time of night, Finella?" Pierce asked coldly. "Wouln't do to lose out on business, you know." 

"Good grief, Pierce - have you any curtesy remaining with you at all, tonight?" Scorned the dark man at the table, filling a second wine glass from a large decanter and offering it out to the blonde cyborg. 

Pierce took it after a moments consideration, and then, after taking a sip, cleared his throat, and glanced over at Finella - his eyes, despite his somewhat softened expression however, remained hostile. 

"I apologise sincerely, my dear." His voice returned to its usual deep, resonant timbre. "I have no idea what came over me." 

"It's that girl." The woman replied with a smile. "Or your _other_ company - I could never abide that Worthington boy." 

"Quite." Said Pierce, taking another sip of his wine. 

"I don't know why Selene is even entertaining the idea of having Gabriel on the Inner Circle." Finella mused airily. "Why take settle for someone with such mediocre powers when she could have the weather witch, Storm, or Mystique?" 

"Delierre's daughter is powerful in her own way, dear girl." The dark skinned mutant told her. "Have you ever seen what happens to someone when they're cocooned in poison ivy? Or when they're peppered with inch-long thorns?" 

"I take it, then, that you would like to see her on the Inner Circle, Mathias?" Finella asked a little stiffly. 

"Just as much as I would like to see Selene release and reinitiate Magneto into our ranks, yes." Mathias replied simply. 

"Each to his own." Remarked a man in gold and red by the bookcase, glancing mutinously up at the back of Mathias's head with acid yellow eyes. 

Mathias appeared not to hear this, and took another draught from his wine glass. 

"Why _has_ the Black Queen made an alliance with Delierre?" He asked then after a pause, looking about at his comrades. 

Pierce raised an eyebrow. 

"You don't know?" 

Dark snickers issued from several places around the room. 

"Dear chap, I wouldn't have asked otherwise, would I?" Mathias replied cheerfully, though his tone was slightly edged. 

Pierce gave a wry smile. 

"Forgive me, Mathias - I thought _everyone_ knew of his fearful reputation." 

"Let us say, then, that I haven't." Came the reply, a little tighter still. 

"Well, when we were talking about powerful mutants a moment ago, you must excuse us for sneering so at your suggestion. It is true that _one_ of the two Delierres possesses incredible abilities, but it isn't Gabriel..." 

"I see..." Mathias responded patiently, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on the tabletop. 

He knew full well that Pierce was only dragging this out to humiliate him, and that the only way to counteract it was to play along, even if his temper _was_ growing shorter by the moment. 

"The more powerful is, infact, Jaques-Antoine - her father - whose name is greatly feared amongst those who know of him, and what he is capable of." 

By now, everyone in the room was watching Pierce with some degree of amusement, enjoying the performance being presented to them. 

"I remember quite well how persistently the Queen sought him out when She heard he was in New York." The blonde man continued theatrically, his deep voice filling the space. "She even had us capture the Morlock, Caliban, to find him. And eventually, we did. In a graveyard. But not buried, you understand - oh no! Very much alive. And so, infact, were one or two of the Dead." 

Mathias's brow bent as he tried to understand. 

"You see, my dear fellow," Donald smirked, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Well might those who have heard of him shiver at his name, because Jaques-Antoine Delierre has a power quite unlike anything the Black Queen has heard of before." 

The room was deathly silent now. 

"And this unique and...remarkable asset of his, is exactly the reason Selene sought him out so determinedly - why she was prepared to go to any extent to strike up an alliance with him." 

Pierce lowered his voice a little for dramatic effect. 

"The reason she's willing to _die_ for her plans, this time. Because, you see, if she does, it won't matter - she can always come back. Because Jaques-Antoine Delierre, like so many of us, also goes by a _nom de guerre. _The _nom de guerre_ of 'The Necromancer'." 

In the corner, Finella drew in a long breath through her white teeth. 

"Bra_vo_." She said quietly. 

-~*~- 


	3. White makes a move

Author's notes: Hey there, muffins! Lord - I looked at the 'last updated' date, and I nearly fell off my chair! Has it really been that long?! Well, I apologise fervently for that - so much to do, so little time, you know? Anywho, here's chapter 3 (finally!), and I would like to thank *ahem*: 

Syreene: Hey there, fuzzums! *huggles* I'm so sorry I haven't updated or emailed you or anything for ages! Please don't hate me? ;-; Yeah, I'm very much a visual descriptions person - I just can't help myself: I get to a describing bit, and I think 'Ok - here we go' and then I end up with about a page or so of really long adjectives! Crazy, huh? *meh* I also agree heartily that the Hell Fire Club makes a good nemesis - Selene is such an excellently ambitious and ruthless character, and that just lends itself to writing an effective scenario. Anyhow, hope I'm sorry I've been a stranger for so long :( and I promise I won't pull that one on you again. Thanks for the review, m'dear *^-^* 

giveGodtheglory: Interestingly disgusting villains? Wow! Nobody's ever said that to me before...*glows* thanks! *^-^* I'm sorry if I confused you - I do that to people alot. *O-o* Yah, anyhow, same applies to you: thank you so much for your review and your praise - I really appreciate it :) And I promise that I shall try my utmost best to make updates more regular from here on in (coursework and GCSE revision - what're you gonna do, eh?) Be well, peeps ;) 

Disclaimer: Heh. The talent is not mine. What can I say? The X-Men belong to Stan Lee and Marvel Comics - I'm just having a bit of fun with them *^-~* 

The streets had become dark long before the pinprick halos of city windows had gone out, and there was a dead silence now, only broken by the sounds of distant sirens, and of discarded cans, food wrappers and old newspaper pages scuttling along in tides before the wind. 

Gabriel shivered, and gave her hood a nervous tug. She hated big cities at night. Everytime she saw someone else strolling down the opposite sidewalk, or heard a car somewhere close by - maybe in the next street - she would flinch and quicken her pace, and wish that she wasn't alone. 

Passing by the entrance to a back alley, she gave out a startled cry as a stray cat hissed at her silhouette, and knocked the lid off a trash can, sending it clattering to the ground and shattering the silence. 

Gabriel darted into the shadow of the wall, standing trembling as she took a moment to settle her nerves again. 

"Oh Warren - I wish you were 'ere..." She moaned weakly. 

Then, taking a deep breath, she crept beyond the penumbra, and tentatively started down the alleyway. 

It was pitch black in the deeper shadows, and there was an unpleasant reek of vomit, sodden rubbish and urine rising up from the gutters that turned Gabriel's stomach and made her want to drop to her knees and gag. 

She stumbled a few times as she went, but she didn't dare reach out a hand and use the wall to guide her, for fear of what she might feel in place of rough brickwork. 

Then, very suddenly, she felt something small and hard stub the toe of her boot, and stopping for a moment to listen, she heard below her the sound of rushing water. 

With a pang of mixed relief and anxiety, Gabriel crouched down to feel around by her feet, and sure enough, her fingertips touched on the cold metal of a manhole cover. 

It took her several tries to shift the disk, and when she finally did, it was incredibly heavy, and cost her a great deal of effort to move in order to leave enough room for her to slip down through the opening. 

After a few minutes, she had managed to get inside the hatch. 

She clung to the rungs of a ladder that ran up the side, and dragged the manhole cover back over the entrance with an aching hand. 

After that, she realised as she paused there in the nocturnal entrance to the city's underworld, just how much lighter it had actually been in the alleyway above. 

As she began to slowly feel her way down the ladder, she had to hold onto the rungs as hard as she could, for the stench of the sewers was near strong enough to make her pass out. 

So, clutching determinedly at the bars, and holding each breath for as long as she could, Gabriel continued downwards through the dark. 

A few seconds later, however, she extended her foot out for the next rung, and found she couldn't feel it. So she lowered herself a little way more, and then again, until at last she met what felt like thick mud, and realised that she must have finally reached the foot of the ladder. 

The smell was even stronger now, and as she dropped down from the hatchway, the liquid in the bottom of the tunnel gave out a sickening 'plop', but Gabriel was encouraged in a grim sort of way to see that the small ripples radiating from around her ankles were crested with sliver-thin reflections of light, meaning that there was some sort of lamp near her. 

Squinting for an instant, Gabriel tried the determine whether the right hand end or the left hand end of the tunnel looked darker, and concluding that it was the left, turned to her right and began to wade as carefully as she could through the canal of New York's sewage. 

On either side of her, she could hear the sloshing sounds of more drainage being emptied into the conduit through pipes, and Gabriel recoiled for a heartbeat as she heard the unmistakable splashing and squeaking of... 

"Rats!" She hissed, shuddering a little as she pressed on, trying not to concentrate on the abominable reek that twinged her sinuses. 

The darkness was beginning to fade now, light sometimes glimmering off the slimy walls and the stagnant waves that coursed through the thick waste. 

Peering ahead as she walked, Gabriel saw a cold, almost greyish glow pouring out from a turning to the right, and hastened on, going as fast as she could through the knee-level sludge without risking a headlong fall. 

But before she ever got anywhere near the turning, she heard a bone-chilling wail, and something stumbled out into the tunnel ahead of her and began to run clumsily on through the sewage. 

"Attente! Etes-vous Calliban? Attente, s'il vous plait! Je veux vous parler!" 

'What am I saying?!' She thought to herself as she watched the gangly figure loping away from her. 'C'est Amérique, n'est pas France!' 

"Wait! Calliban!" She shouted, her voice slightly breathy as she ran to catch up with him. "Please! I mean you no 'arm! I need your 'elp!" 

"No! No Topsiders! We don't_ trust_ Topsiders!" Came the frightened reply. The mutant's voice was unlike anything Gabriel had ever heard before - a sound reminiscent of gravel being swirled in a metal sieve. 

"Please!" Gabriel shouted even louder, and stopping in her tracks, stretched her hands out toward the running Morlock. 

There was no noise as her lavender eyes flooded green, nor as up through the stagnant filth curled tiny, delicate shoots of ivy, that were growing in girth and height at a remarkable speed. Up they reared like snakes about their mistress, lifting their leafy heads and all the time, still increasing in size. 

Then, as if launching into a sudden strike, the vines shot forward through the reeking air, streaking toward the stumbling and horrified Calliban, who had no hope of outpacing them. With a piteous moan, he sank to his knees and covered his hairless head with his spindle-fingered hands as the tendrils bound themselves about his arms and his torso and his legs. 

Gabriel then upturned her palms, and first raised her fingers, and then curled them into her palms, gently drawing Calliban back to her, the vines gliding above the surface of the sewage with him hanging in their firm grasp like some forlorn marionette with its strings cut. 

The Morlock didn't lift his head to look at Gabriel as she stopped him about a metre before her, but merely whimpered incoherently, his entire gangly frame trembling. 

"Calliban, I don't want to 'urt you, I just need your 'elp." Gabriel assured him in a sympathetic voice. "I swear, I mean you no 'arm. I will let you go, if you like, but I must speak wiz you." 

Very slowly, the young woman lowered her captive to ground as the ivy retracted from around his body, leaving him to collapse in a pathetic, quivering heap at her feet. 

Gabriel studied him for a moment, and it began to occur to her that something was quite obviously wrong - no matter what the reputation of the Morlocks was for disliking 'Topsiders', it didn't strike her as right that one should be so hopelessly_ terrified_ of her. 

Stooping down, she gently lifted Calliban's chin with her fingertips. His grey-skinned, gaunt face was frozen with fear, and his large, liquid dark eyes were wide as they stared up into her lavender ones. 

And it was then that she noticed the whelps and flay-marks, like thick, black threads criss-crossing the Morlock's skin this way and that, and Gabriel felt as though she was going to scream. 

"_Merde!_ 'Oo _did_ zis to you?" She asked, feeling both hateful rage and deepest, heart-wrenching pity swelling inside her. "'Oo 'as _done_ zis?!" 

Calliban's head slowly drooped, and his long hand went back over his shoulder to protectively cover a large gash on his shoulder blade. 

"Ss...ss...Selene..." He whimpered. 

-~*~- 

"Checkmate." 

Bobby Drake glanced up at his blue friend, and then bowed his head, shaking it. Reaching out, he resignedly flicked his King over onto its side. 

"You know, should seriously consider going round wearing a sign that says "I am Hank McCoy - _never_ challenge me to a game of Chess if you're not a rocket scientist because I'll kick your ass at it"." 

Beast chuckled. 

"Another game, perhaps?" He asked, starting to replace the taken pieces. 

"No thanks." Bobby smiled, getting to his feet. "I think I'll save whatever dignity I've got left, and go drown my humiliation in soda." 

"Suit yourself." Came the reply, as Hank continued to reset the board. 

Dr Henry McCoy was well suited to his _nom de plume_, which, thanks to his incredible agility and simian appearance, was The Beast. 

Bobby stood and watched him for a moment as he sat crouched on the chair, the thick ultramarine fur that covered his hugely muscled body gleaming silkily in the bright sunlight that streamed through the tall windows. Much like Nightcrawler, his ears tapered to fine points, and his smile showcased a fearsome set of long fangs. Also, much like his German team-mate, appearances accounted for almost nothing of the personality. His fellow X-Men knew Hank to be an inveterate prankster, a great wit, and of superior genius and voluminous vocabulary, and not the seemingly monstrous, violent, wild animal that many people mistook him for at first glance. 

Bobby watched his ape-like friend for a little longer, and then turned to leave the room, when the chime of the doorbell echoed through the foyer. 

He went to answer it, but was beaten there by Nightcrawler, who appeared in a billow of purple smoke and a burst of imploding air, and stepped forward to open the door. 

Outside on the doorstep stood a tall, handsome young man with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a huge pair of white-feathered wings crossed neatly behind his back. 

He smiled as Nightcrawler blinked at him in surprise, and then shook him heartily by the hand as a huge grin lit his headlamp eyes. 

"Warren! Long time, no see, mein freund!" 

"You're not kidding!" Warren laughed. "How've you been?" 

"Very well, and yourself?" 

"Good - very good." 

"Hey buddy!" Bobby grinned, joining the melee. 

"How's it going, kiddo?" Warren beamed, shaking Iceman's outstretched hand. 

"Oh, you know...I discovered I was a mutant, I joined the X-Men, I saved the world, I grew up..." 

"Point taken." Archangel nodded sheepishly. 

"Aw, no sweat, bud." Bobby grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "We can be mature adults together." 

"Why don't you come in?" Kurt suggested, standing back to let them in through the door. 

"What a _fantastic_ idea - we always seem to underestimate you, Nightcrawler." Angel said with a sardonic smile as they stepped inside the foyer. 

"It's all that praying." Bobby replied wryly. "It's hard to take a man seriously when he's praying all the time." 

"Heathen." Kurt murmured under his breath. 

-~*~- 

"So, what's up?" 

Bobby, Warren and Kurt had joined Beast back in the lounge, and were now all reclining in deep leather seats around a small table, clutching mugs of steaming coffee in their hands. All eyes turned to Warren as Bobby asked the inevitable question. 

"You guessed this wasn't merely a social visit, then?" 

"You've got that look in your eyes that says 'There be sleeping dragons somewhere that are beginning to wake up, and I just tripped over one's tail'." 

Warren blinked. 

"I'll have to get my eyes tested." He muttered. Then he gave a grim sort of smile. "But yes, you're right - I am here on specific business." 

"Profitable?" Kurt asked, looking up at Warren from the rim of his coffee cup with a raised eyebrow as he took a sip. 

"Unfortunately not. I've caught wind of some movements going on in the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club - Selene's been plotting again, I'm afraid." 

"What about?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"What's she been plotting about?" 

Warren paused as he took a draught of coffee. 

"That's why I came to you." He replied, lowering the mug again. "I need your help to find out. In the meantime, I _do_ have _some_ information that might be of use to us: does the name Jaques-Antoine Delierre mean anything to any of you?" 

A blank silence. 

"He's the father of a close friend of mine." Warren explained. "Gabriel Delierre. It was she that told me that something was afoot in the first place. Apparently, the Black Queen has struck up an alliance with Jaques-Antoine, and she also offered Gabriel a place in her Inner Circle. The interesting thing, though, is that she's only accepting _Black_ royalty - she seems to have dissolved the White side." 

"Well, whatever Selene's planning, it would seem that she's not prepared to lay herself open to contrasting ideas." Hank mused. 

"It could quite possibly be just that." Warren agreed. 

"You said that the Black Queen offered your lady friend an invitation to join her Inner Circle, nicht war?" Kurt said after a pause. 

Warren flushed slightly at Kurt's phraseology. 

"Yes, I did." 

"Did she accept? Because if she did, we could well play that to our advantage." 

"No, she didn't accept." Warren replied. "And I _can_ see your point about how we could use that to our advantage, but I'd be more than a little dubious about putting Gabriel in that position." 

"Warren's right - it would be an dangerous gamble to take on her safety." Hank told his German comrade. 

Kurt nodded in compliance. 

"What are we going to do, then?" Bobby asked, breaking the pensive silence. 

"For the moment, we'll think." Warren said at length. "But thinking's not a thing to do without the proper observances - how about another round of coffee?" 

-~*~- 

Calliban shivered and whispered to himself in his gravelly voice as they walked, his large, long hands poised out to the sides and slightly infront of him, and his dark, liquid eyes darting this way and that. 

Gabriel, despite her sympathy for the mutant, found his whole demeanour quite disturbing, and was glad when they at last reached another passage turning off from the main tunnel, and she could better see about them in the cold, grey light cast by the lamp on the wall. 

Squatting down on his haunches like a dog, Calliban peered out into the darkness beyond the penumbra of the baleful halo, and hissed in his rasping voice 

"Callisto! Callisto!I am here - I bring the Topsider!" 

There was moment's silence, before Gabriel strained to make out the sound of soft, almost inaudible footfalls coming towards them. 

"Welcome, pretty one." Came a woman's voice from the shadows. "It is not often we have visitors from the surface world - why have you come here?" 

But Gabriel had not had time to reply, before the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she turned to see that the exit into the main tunnel was blocked by three other Morlocks, who stared at her with hard eyes. 

"Please, do not take offence." Callisto said, stepping into the light. "It is merely a precaution...if you are who you say you are..." 

The woman standing before Gabriel was tall and lean-built, her black hair sweeping back from her forehead like spines, and a dull eye patch over her right eye. She looked as though she may have been in her late twenties, and very attractive, too, but the running, and hiding in the dark had hardened and aged her appearance, and Gabriel suddenly felt terribly young and naive when Callisto addressed her as 'Pretty One'. 

"I am 'oo I am." Gabriel answered evenly. "I came because I needed zee 'elp of your friend Calliban to find my farzer, Jaques-Antoine Delierre." 

At this, Calliban, who had meanwhile been crouching quietly at her side like some huge hound, gave out a fearful whimper and scuttled to Callisto's side. 

"I know 'e is in league wiz zee Black Queen, and zat 'e is 'elping 'er to achieve 'er ends." Gabriel continued, looking up from Calliban to fix Callisto's black eyes with her lavender ones. "I mean to stop 'im, and to break zee alliance, if I can." 

"And why should your troubles concern us?" Callisto asked unblinkingly. 

Gabriel's eyes flickered to Calliban, who wilted beneath her gaze, and covered his wretched face with trembling, long-fingered hands. 

"My farzer is a powerful politician." She offered. "And so am I. Would you be willing to make a deal?" 

-~*~- 


End file.
